A (totally not) quick anecdote

Back in December, my mom hosted her Winter Solstice party again, in lieu of a a Christmas party. Instead of the regular gift-giving, a part of this solstice tradition is to craft individual presents for each other attendee, sometimes within a theme. Because of the nature and relation of the attending group, the thematic element is much more prevalent than it might have been otherwise. The party is on the day after Christmas, December 26th. Unlike the previous year wherein I burned albums from my collection that I thought the receiver would both enjoy and fit my internal representation of them, this year, I had no flashy ideas. I considered writing each of my giftees a lengthy letter, laying out my feelings and thoughts and general love for them, but beyond that vague plan, had nothing else. As is my way when faced with tasks such as this, tasks that require forethought, planning, and determination to break through a mental wall, I ignored it at every chance, and laughed it off when it came up in conversation with any of the family or even Amanda. The day of the party arrived, though, and I still hadn’t any ideas. I spent the whole day with a knot of dread sitting in my gut, just above my bellybutton. I skillfully ignored that as well.

About 2 hours before we had to leave, Amanda asked me, gentle but obviously worried and motherly, if I had done my gifts yet. I told her I hadn’t, but was about to. She left me alone, but her reminder forced me to face my lack of any work at all. Instead of doing something about it, I let the feelings of claustrophobia and anxiety overwhelm me, as I do, and laid down on the bed, clothed and lightless. I cried and lay still for almost fifteen minutes before Amanda, even more worried, called my name, came into the bedroom, and sat on the bed next to me. We talked for a bit, and she brainstormed with me. We (read: she) came up with a good solution and after cleaning my face, I set to work on it. It came out only okay, but I didn’t feel too poor about it, given my memories of the previous years gifts. (I took a 8.5 x 5.5 piece of paper, drew a crayon picture in some form representative, and wrote a haiku encompassing, in short, a thought or feeling I had about them.)

Amanda and I showed up to my Mom’s house, in West Chester, and we enjoyed the party. Towards the end of the night, it came time to share our gifts. I felt the start of shame burn within my heart. My turn came, I handed everyone their papers, and they all laughed a little, cuz they’re funny. Jacob, whenever his turn was, had written a 5 minute rap with four stanzas for each person present. Liam made everyone mix cds from his own collection. Mom handed everyone cardboard boxes that contained personalized 2011 calendars filled with pictures of whoever received it.

That’s the story element, but the point for writing all of this is to lay out how I reacted in the face of “homework”, and rereading what I wrote yesterday (the above), I didn’t do a very good job of describing it.

Sometimes, I get in a mental rut. I trip on a thought, and it sits in my head, knocking around, looping and looping and looping until it overwhelms my other mental faculties. I put up a good front, but I have a lot of issues with failing goals and disappointing people who expect things from me. For example, back in early January, Amanda and I were talking about money and my future situation while she’d be off in England, and she put up the idea that maybe I shouldn’t try to save up and go visit her. I told her I had to, because it’s not just about visiting, though that is the main reason, but because if I don’t, I would disappoint my mom and dad (not to mention my siblings). I said that I’d already disappointed them enough, to pass up an opportunity like this would break their heart.  All totally true. I was getting out of the shower while I said this, and while I felt fine going into the sentence, by the time I finished, I was crying. I could feel all the pressure from years of school and NaNoWriMo and everything else I see as me failing, and it overwhelmed me. How it goes.

All that to say that I had the same reaction, except a lot more clear and specific, back in December. I felt the tightness in my chest, I knew the guilt and the shame and the regret and the anger and the frustration was coming, and I didn’t have enough time to fully react, so instead, I let the pain roll over me. I laid on the bed, and shook with the above. I hate failing, though. As I think about it, it really comes down to a deep aversion to failing and causing disappointment. Like Calvin said, Expectations are lower if you don’t try too hard, so I don’t.

I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I know the feeling, and it’s fucking terrible. That’s why I’ll never be successful.

(Well, one of the reasons.)

Adventure, Part 3

Lyrics that keep hitting me with blissful pain and nostalgia: This dream is in a telescope now. Happiness, it won’t last long.

Today is Thursday, May 5th. Two weeks ago +:

Friday, the 22nd I don’t sleep very well, cuz I’m on the floor with only a pillow, and a tiny blanket on me in my clothes. Even so, two long days of travel catch up to me, so Amanda and I sleep until almost noon. She tells me later that this is how England lives: late to sleep, late to wake. We drag ourselves into some clothes, stumble to the kitchen for some “wraps” (a tortilla with sandwich meat, cheese, and lettuce), and figure out what we’re doing for the day. The plan so far: procure a mattress for me, go down to The Mock Turtle in the Lanes for tea and scones, and then whatever! A sound plan we decide.

We walk over to the office, but poop and more poop, the office is under Spring Break hours, so we’ll have to wait until 4. Okay, next order of business. We dash back to the flat, tell Laura to meet us down there, and bust out, taking the 25 down the hill to the shore. Amanda and Mark text each other, to figure out meeting plans, cuz we want him there for tea as well. He’s already in the Lanes, but doesn’t know where the shop is. She gives him directions as we step off the bus and head down. As we wait, I decide I want some gelato from the cute gelato shop next to the Mock Turtle. I make the mistake of ordering chile chocolate, though, and it tastes horrible. Laura shows up and saves the day, tasting it also to agree that it’s terrible. We hold onto it just long enough for Mark to try it when he appears, but he likewise hates it. Glorious choice, Noah. Into the tea shop we go.

It’s fucking adorable. Tiny, with a downstairs I never did get to experience, the walls and from window are covered in pastries and tea sets. The walls are a baby cyan blue, and all of the tables and chairs are creaky wood. We botch the order, so the waitress decides for us. After a surprisingly brief wait, she brings out our  food: boiling water in a teapot, a strainer, two tea cups with saucers, and a plate with three scones, butter cream and jam. I almost die. The scones are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They’re practically bread chunks, being tall and thick and warm and so very delicious. And the tea is traditional strong British black tea. We all feast our faces off, taking many pictures and sharing much love. We finish, satisfied, and exit back out into the Lanes, looking for adventure.

Through them we wander, looking in the various shop fronts, giggling and chatting, breaking off into two groups organically, as the other two suspect Amanda and I want to walk together. They are so very cute together, Mark and Laura. Like best friends they never knew they had until England. I see them laughing together, and I want them to get married and grow old together, being this happy forever. We end up at the edge of the Royal Pavilion, and decide to walk through it. The grounds are gorgeous and lush, people are playing or lounging in the grass, flowers have bloomed. It feels like a movie. I’m floating.

We walk to the edge, finding ourselves trapped, and backtrack out to the street, where we hop on the bus and head back up to Falmer. We’ve got 35 minutes before the office opens, so we lay around, chitchatting and wasting time. FIIIIINALLY, it’s time, so we run down, chat with the very nice gentleman working, and walk away with a very generic mattress. Victory tastes sweet. Back in the room, we cover it, blanket it, and get back to our chilling and chatting. Shortly after, a number of the others  invite us to go on a walk with them. I give Amanda my puppy eyes, so we pull our shoes back on, and head out the door. Everyone meets at the edge of the flats, next to the tennis courts, where we hear about the fabled sheep that live on the hill behind the campus.

We head out, all of us walking and stumbling and trudging our way through the little bit of woodlands between the campus and the hills. The group includes Matt, Mark, Megan, Carli, Jen, Laura, Amanda, and myself. This group of kids is beautiful. Every single one of them is wonderful. They’re playful and kind and silly and they’ve made me feel welcome and a part of their group without reservation. I wish I could stay longer. We break from the trees to a fence and gate, which we step through, out onto a massive hill, stretching from my feet greenly towards the stark blue cloudless sky high above. I take a minute, caught in awe, but quickly dash back to Amanda, so as to not be left behind.

We climb to the top of the hill. Someone has taken some bigger rocks from around and spelled out SOS on the ground next to the solitary tree near the apex. For fun, I run around a bit like a biplane in World War 1. We get to the far end of this hill, and go through the gate to the next square of land, where a bunch of people are hanging out with their dogs and walking around. Amanda and I get tired, though, so we head back. We later find out they walk for five more hours, eventually making their way to downtown Brighton, before taking the bus home. Amanda and I walk back to the first hill, next to the tree, and we sit for a bit, soaking in the view. It’s breathtaking, and the more I look, the more emotional I become. I don’t know that I can accurately describe it through text, as a moment like this usually requires me rambling through broken metaphors and botched descriptions at length, but suffice to say, I cry. I look out over the valley, and Does Not Suffice floats softly through my brain. Amanda, who words cannot encompass, understands, and doesn’t say anything.

We just sit, and look, and know this will last forever, and then end forever.

After a while, we talk briefly and begin walking back. I consider hugging her, but I know that if I do, my tears will  drown me, so we walk in silence until we reach the first gate, and walk back through the woods. We discuss, within, how we want to raise our kids, and what kind of environment would be suitable. Through all the shit the two of us have been through, which, admittedly, is not a lot, I find myself continually shocked that we’ve ended up together. Our happenchance meeting online, our rough first relationship, my horrible double-dealings with Emma, the subsequent period of no contact, and now this: a sharing of purpose like my biology tells me it should be. A whole comfort within the vastly complex and infinitely subtle life and mind of another person. I can dig it.

Back at the flat, we eat some digestives, watch some Arrested Development, and enjoy the setting sun from her window.

Later, we cuddle. A simple bit of movement, a natural combination of bodies, a mirroring I’ve participated in my whole life. It’s not so much different with Amanda, physically, but it means something different. “A cup of kindess that we share with another. / A sweet reunion with a friend or a brother. / In all the places you find love it feels like Christmas.” Like that. We try sex, but it’s been a while, so the mechanics don’t work out quite right. It ends in laughter, though, laughter and groaning.

I know, as I fall asleep on the mattress on the floor next to Amanda. But I don’t mind. I pull the corner of the blanket a little farther towards my head, and go to sleep happy.

Adventure, Part 2

Today is Sunday, May 1st. A week and three days ago +:

Thursday, the 21st So where did I leave off, last time? Oh yes. I’d just arrived, and stepped into Amanda’s room. We sit on her bed for a little while, hugging and talking and sharing, as it’s been over a day since we’d last talked. I tell her about my adventures in Brixton, and the nosebleed, and my nap on the train. She laughs at me, gently, and tells me about how she and Laura had waited for me at the bus stop at 8:30, then later at 10:30, but without any means on contacting me, they could only worry and wait. Many lolz were shared. Before doing anything else, though, I hop in the shower, and scrub away sleepiness and traveling. After a brief discussion of potentials while I dry off, we decide on going to the baguette sandwich seller in the Lanes. We hit the hallway, and I meet Laura, one of Amanda’s flatmates. I can tell she’s going to be kick-ass almost instantly. She wants to come with, so we lollygag until she changes, and then we’re off!

And by off, I mean we exit the building and walk up the hill to the bus stop. Woo. My £2 bus ticket from earlier still works for the rest of the day, so payment is a non-issue. We, of course, sit upstairs, and stretch ourselves out across our own two-seats. I point out where I’d stepped off the bus too early, and they laugh a bunch. An uncommon but understandable mistake, I take. The road systems make no sense at all. The double-yellow isn’t used to denote the sides of traffic, so to an outsider, the road gives no hints and the traffic paths are completely opaque.  We barrel downtown, and set off the bus into harsh, clear sunlight and warm weather. I can smell the sea. To the right, where we start walking towards, are the Lanes. Rows and rows of alleyways and sidestreets crammed with shops and stalls and stores, each as beautiful and unique as the next.

Up the way, we come to the baguette place. It’s a hole-in-the-wall 10×10 room with a counter-window for the customers, and some signs of the various things they sell. Laura buys a drink, I get a brie, bacon and raspberry jam on white, and Amanda gets a pesto chicken and Parmesan cheese on wheat. Lacking chairs, we wander down the street a bit until we pass a cute little park, and plant on a bench within. After hearing Laura whine about lacking money, I share my sandwich a bit. She protests, but still eats a bit. Once finished, we just sit and enjoy the scene. It’s gorgeous weather, the park grass has multiple groups, and a couple are walking around the edge.

From here, we head down to the beach, still not decided if we want to put our feet in the water. Through the Lanes, the lovely ladies point out their favorite tea shop, and promise me we’ll attend tomorrow. It looks adorable. Across the street, and we’re on the seawall. It’s not quite hot enough yet for the masses to come out, but the beach is still pretty full. We walk down to the waters edge, and the three of of take turns getting our feet wet. Laura is the most adventurous, and eventually soaks most of her skirt. A couple little kids play near us. They’re so very adorable. I know I talk about memes and recursion a lot, to the point of making the words meaningless, but it blows my mind to watch situations like this: The three of us are sitting there, tossing rocks into the ebbing water and chatting away, and this four- or five-year old girl, who has been playing in and around the water, starts watching us, trying to be subtle about it. We notice of course, but we don’t call out to her. Soon after, she sits down a little away from us, and also starts throwing rocks into the water, and frequently looking back at us in approval. We laugh about it, as she almost hits her little brother, but we’re clearly influencing her. Laura goes back into the water at one point, getting in pretty far, and soon after, once Laura’s back, the little girl tries her hand at wading in. (This is all under the watchful eye of her mother, who is not 10 feet away.) She wants to go in as far as Laura, but obviously is too small and not brave enough. Just mind-blowing to watch. She was learning from us older folks how to act. Learning through imitation and repetition.

After we’ve dried off, we walk back to the bus stop, and chill out a bit until the 25 takes us home. I fall asleep on the bus, much to the amusement of the two ladies. We get back to the flat, Laura bids us adieu, and we sit down in Amanda’s room. While chatting, I fall asleep on her bed for a couple hours. After my nap, we make a shitty frozen pizza that hurts our bellies, and waste time until another flatmate of hers, her friend Mark, comes home from his trip to Belgium. We go visit him, and he shares his chocolates and stories with us on the floor of his room. We hang out with him, then, in the kitchen with some of the others, including Laura and Madison.

Then it’s bedtime, and we remember we don’t have an extra mattress for me. We try sleeping in the same double, but that’s even worse. So I take a pillow to the floor, and drift off into a very uncomfortable night of sleep. Yikes and ouch.

I don’t remember everything from Friday, though, or the other days, so I’ll wait to post about them until tomorrow. Any of you from Brighton, please comment here or on Facebook, and remind me of what we did together and when. I don’t wanna forget. I didn’t know you for very long, but I love you all. I’m glad we met.